


if i let you love me

by ViolaWay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s stupid, because Sherlock will never love him back. He knows that, and he can almost accept it. At least there’ll never be anyone else who’s the centre of his attention, at least he’ll never care about anyone more than he does about John. </p><p>Then along comes Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i let you love me

It’s stupid, because Sherlock will never love him back. He knows that, and he can almost accept it. At least there’ll never be anyone else who’s the centre of his attention; at least he’ll never care about anyone more than he does about John.

Then along comes Moriarty.

And it’s detestable, to actually be _jealous_ of a man like that, simply because he can captivate the ever fluid concentration of Sherlock Holmes. Simply because Sherlock spends _hours_ poring over files dedicated to the murderer, instead of whining to John about his choice of TV show. Simply because Sherlock spend days without talking at all, pressed up against the back of the sofa, palms together, brow furrowed in concentration, thinking about _him._ John feels irrational, and petty, but he _needs_ Sherlock to say something otherwise he’ll explode.

“Sherlock?”

No reply.

“ _Sherlock?”_

Still nothing. He rests his head in his hands briefly before going to make tea. If only tea solved everything.

Like, for instance, a broken heart.

It seems overly dramatic, the inference that Sherlock has _broken_ any part of him. Because if anything, it was Sherlock who made him well again. It was Sherlock who gave him back his leg, his stable psychology, and his purpose. It was Sherlock who made him smile—alright, downright _giggle_ , sometimes—and it was Sherlock who made him feel whole again.

But no doubt, the man has broken his heart.

Because Sherlock is incapable of love, and John is well aware of this. Everyone agrees: it’s like it’s a fact even though Sherlock has never verbalised an absolute distaste for romantic involvement. But he’s married to his job, and John thinks he will be forever. He can’t begrudge Sherlock the love he has for deduction when it saves so many lives…if only they could work out a compromise.

John doesn’t mind being second best. He was second best to his mother for a great many years, until Harry went off the rails and his parents’ favouritism shifted. He’s second best in cases: Sherlock’s right-hand man who’s not really useful for much except understanding Sherlock’s frequent mood swings and occasionally performing a rudimentary medical examination. He was the second best in his army days: the doctor they used when Martha was unavailable.

And a small part of him whispers: ‘ _he’s doing this to keep you safe. See, he does care!’_ But then there’ll be a new lead and Sherlock will jump up in undeniable excitement, and John realises once again that it’s just the thrill of the chase that’s keeping his roommate entertained.

He doesn’t do anything truly stupid like cry or try to change the situation with what limited resources he has. For all anyone can guess, Sherlock is firmly asexual and would prefer to be left that way.

For the second time that day, John tries to reach Sherlock. Most people have trouble by phone, but him? He has enough trouble when he best friend is right next to him.

“Sherlock?”

No reply.

_“Sherlock?”_

Still nothing.

***

For Sherlock, it’s like John’s voice is a background noise, similar to the music you tune out when you’re absorbed in homework or reading. It can’t be important, but what Sherlock’s doing in the cavern of his brain is surely more important, and John will understand, right?

His mind is, indeed, very like a palace. Right now, he’s locked in one particular room, and he’s unlikely to leave any time soon.

It’s the room called “Moriarty”, or, alternatively, “John’s safety”. Files line the walls but none connect to one another, and he feels trapped: stifled by the walls that only exist inside the various cortexes and nerve endings of his brain. In the end, he leaves that place, frustrated by the lack of understanding.

Instead, he goes to a room which he calls, simply: “John”. It’s hard to understand the man at the best of times, so it’s nice to have all the data in one convenient place. Or so he tells himself. Mostly, he just likes having a corner of his mind simply reserved for reliving all his memories with John. Happiness is simple, sometimes. Love is simple, too.

If John asks, he won’t be able to lie, but John hasn’t asked.

Maybe they’re better this way.

***

Maybe not.

“Sherlock?”

No reply.

_“Sherlock?”_

Still nothing.

But this time, there’ll never be a reply, because blood is spilling onto the pavement, and this is it. The end.

That’s when John cries, because what if?

He thinks it would have been better, to love _and to have been loved in return_ and lost, rather than this. He would have liked to hear the word ‘love’ on Sherlock’s lips one last time before they were drained of colour.

He thinks he should have told Sherlock how he felt when he still had the chance. 

**Author's Note:**

> remember to kudos, bookmark and/or comment!
> 
> tumblr is oopshidaisy :)


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